This story takes place shortly after Great Expectations

"Hello? Front desk? This is the Glenman suite? I would like to order some late dinner?" Paul said, phone in hand as he slowly paced back and forth in a line no longer then five feet. Upon the bed stretched Trynia, scanning the pay per view selection for any appealing movies.

" Yeah... two orders of the chicken soup, and for dinners the swordfish and buttered potatoes, and the chicken cordon bleu?" Paul continued, watching for Trynia's nod of confirmation. "To drink... yeah, a bottle of white zinfandel. How long... twenty minutes? Great... just put it on the tab..."

Once he had finished the call, Paul hung up the receiver. He settled down next to her on the bed, and folded his arms behind his head breezily. Far more comfortably then she sometimes had seen him. It was as if he was letting down his guard a bit to put her more at ease. Whatever the reason, she felt somewhat better then when Sharmane had first called.

"Mind if I have some wine?" he asked.

"Not really, but I don't know if I'll want any," she said.

"Your choice. But you don't have to drive anywhere tonight," he joked.

"Well if I DO partake, I am taking my glass EVERYWHERE with me..." she laughed nervously.

"Can't wait for some food... man I'm glad they have something other then the usual burgers, fajita wraps and crap," he chuckled, trying to make light conversation. "Soda?"

"Sure," she nodded. Paul rose from the bed and moved over to the small fridge under the kitchen area.

"Ice? They have some real glasses here... go figure, they're actually CIVILIZED here!"

"Ice and a glass, monsieur!" she put on a mock French accent that made Paul chuckle.

"Okay, coke, diet coke, caffeine free... jeez they don't have CHERRY? What kind of a five star place is this, shit?" he pretended to bitch, to make her chuckle even more.

"Diet please," she said. "And hold the lemon!"

"That's part of the fun!" Paul grinned, noticing that there were even fresh lemon wedges in a small Styrofoam bowl in the top of the fridge. Taking one he pressed it on the edge of a glass, added a few cubes of ice with a clink, and cracked open the soda. Bringing both the can and the glass, he handed them to her. She straightened up on the bed to take them.

She took the soda and settled down to relax. Paul answered the knock at the door and received their room service cart. It was difficult not to watch him pull out his wallet and pay for everything in cash as he usually did instead of using a credit card.

"So, who's ready for a little bit of ROOM SERVICE?" he asked using his onstage shtick.

"I'd say I was," she drawled back, repeating his accent almost word prefect. He grinned and wheeled the cart over to the bed. Soon they were enjoying the fine foods they had ordered, offering a bit to each other amidst light laughter and conversation.

"You have got to try this swordfish," he told her, holding it on a fork to her. She nibbled a bit, and nodded her assent.

"Not bad. I'm not a seafood person, but this is pretty good."

"It's my job to introduce you to the finer things," he teased. "I couldn't persuade you to have some wine could I?"

"Uh well, remember our bargain..." she winked.

"Here," Paul offered her to sip from his glass. "I'm wide awake and I will remember this evening..."

She obliged him with a small sip, tasting the white tangyness that set off the fish perfectly. From Paul she had learned what wines went best with which foods, something her father had somehow overlooked. Despite the fact he was Italian, wines were not his thing. Rather something harder like gin and tonic...

Momentarily she pushed that thought out of her mind, and focussed on taking another bite of the swordfish, washed down with another sip of wine from his glass. Paul's dark eyes twinkled playfully at her, glancing down towards her meal. She fed him a bit, and offered him diet coke as a chaser.

"You know what would go perfect with this?" she asked slowly.

"What baby?"

"Dessert..."

"Mmm," Paul smiled. "Any ideas?"

"Mint chocolate chip ice cream," she winked. "but I don't know if they have that flavor..."

"Well why don't you get Chris to take you down and see?" Paul asked. "Just for a change of scenery, and while you're there, I'll take care of a few things here... last minute band business..."

"Paul, I thought you were done performing tonight..."

"I've been expecting a call from Gene, just to check in. Will only take a minute," he said. He hoped she did not guess the real reason he was momentarily shooing her out of the room...

Actually, Paul half expected the police to call, and he wanted to gently urge them to wait for Trynia to call them back. A strange gut feeling told him that someone ELSE may try his or her luck, and he didn't want her further upset. Since Sharmane had already called, there was no telling who else might call. Not that he didn't want her to talk to her friends, but he didn't want her further reminded of the activities of the past week when he had only just gotten her calmed down.

So, he spent the next few minutes putting away a few of his t-shirts and jeans into one of the dresser drawers, waiting for the inevitable. He wasn't altogether surprised when he heard her cell phone ring. Unzipping her purse, he pulled out the slender Nokia phone he had given her during that summer as a gift for keeping in touch. For a moment he picked it up, looking for the number stored on it, and noticed that it seemed unfamiliar. Except for the 610 area code, which told him it was from Pennsylvania, in the greater Philly area.

"Hmmm, hello. Is Trynia there?" said a male voice on the other end, hesitant and slightly slurred.

"Hello? Tryn's phone..." Paul said as neutrally as possible. It could be any of her friends. In the background, he heard the pounding pulse beat of club music, amidst people talking and the clack of something against something else. Sounding suspiciously like pool balls clacking, Paul deduced whomever it was might probably be calling from a bar or nightclub.

"Yeah, hi, uhhhhh, I was wondering if I could speak to her."

"May I ask who's calling?" Paul asked slowly. Whoever it was didn't recognize his distinctive voice.

"This is.....a....uh....friend of hers," the voice continued hesitantly, surprise apparent in its tone that it was hearing a male voice answering instead of a female one. "From school....."

"A friend?" Paul asked, measuring his voice. Because this person didn't identify himself right away, that raised Paul's antenna immediately.

"Uh... yeah..."

"And may I ask what this is in reference to?" Paul asked, authoritatively.

"Did she forget her homework? Or is one of her professors trying to get in touch with her?"

"Mr. Merin, I'm not looking for any trouble. Your daughter and I dated for a bit, and....."

Anger flooded Paul's stomach, and his jaw tensed in anger. It was all he could do not to cuss the guy out over the phone then and there. Yet, he knew he had to play it cool, for this could very well be the culprit himself. Better yet, this idiot thought he was Trynia's father!

"I don't recall hearing about you, young man," he said slowly, putting on his best parental "you'd better not mess with my little girl" tone.

"I just need to speak with her, sir," the voice explained. "See....she might not have mentioned me..."

"As far as I knew she said she was dating a musician... in a rock band," Paul said levelly. "And unless you are in a rock band sir, I don't believe I've heard your name..."

The voice's owner said nervously, "We went out here just recently, and unfortunately... I don't think it's going to work out. But I need....I NEED to talk to her..."

"How did you two meet?" Paul asked sternly, hand on his hip. "I like to know about the men in her life. Being the father figure in her life..."

"Oh....uh....through friends," he said slowly. "Please, Mr. Merin I NEED to talk to her, can't you just... put her on?"

"Why is it so urgent... you didn't HURT her did you? You don't have a girl already do you? You'd BETTER not be two timing her..."

"No way!" the guy said almost too quickly. "Please... you don't understand man... I wanted to tell her that it was over. And she's a nice girl and all, but we're just not cut out for each other. That's all. Especially since you're telling me now she's already GOT a boyfriend?"

"Wait a minute," Paul stopped him. "Did you meet... at Brownies? In Ardmore?"

"Brownies. Yes...uhhh....sure," he said slowly.

"Did my daughter behave herself?" Paul asked, masking his growing suspicion.

Momentary hesitation met his ears, before the guy cleared his throat and said, "Mr. Merin, really, I think you ought to talk to her about that."

"Why?" Paul demanded. "Did she do something she SHOULND't have?"

"Because....well.....it's not really anything I want to tell. And since you say, she's got a boyfriend... I really don't.... wanna..."

Paul's anger built to a boiling point. In a low voice he queried, "Are you Charlie?"

A gasp met this remark, and the guy breathed, "Oh, she mentioned me?"

"She did... now that I recall," Paul says, voice still low, with a hint of coolness.

"Strange, because, well, we didn't date that long, and I didn't really think she was that nuts about me," he babbled. "Her kind of dumping me and all."

"She mentioned that YOU broke up with HER," Paul challenged him. "Because at that time she was having problems with her boyfriend... and it was a simple misunderstanding..."

"But... What happened is THIS. Look, I'm not looking to piss you...errr...make you angry with Trynia, but..."

"But?" Paul asked. "You have something to say to me, don't you, young man?"

"We went out once or twice. She kind of seemed to have an alcohol problem, so I thought we ought to bolt. She told me she never wanted to see me again."

"Excuse the hell me?" Paul said sharply. "You mean to say my daughter is an alcoholic?"

"She TOLD me she didn't want to go out anymore!" the guy responded, a bit agitated.

"Really, WHY was that?" Paul asked, his insides churning with disgust.

"And between us, personally, if she were MY daughter, she could stand a little alcohol education, if you don't mind me saying."

"Why? What makes You think she has a problem, Charlie. I'm interested to know, since you are concerned about my... little girl..." Paul said, voice rising in volume.

Another delay in answering told Paul this guy was probably concocting a suitable lie, "It's just...the first night we met, she got toasted and went home with me. That's just a dangerous thing to do for a girl, that's all."

"I would say so," Paul agreed, gritting his teeth for self-control "Did she remember anything of what happened?"

"No, I doubt she did, Mr. Merin. She was pretty plastered from what I can tell."

"Strange, because she told me she only had 2 beers... and then she couldn't remember a THING..." Paul again challenged him. "That's VERY unusual to get plastered after only 2 beers... don't you think?"

"Look, I just don't GET this. If you have issues over this, you need to talk to Trynia. I'm the GOOD guy here" he says in frustration.

"Really?" Paul asked. "I guess you're a regular Boy Scout... how do I know you didn't bring her home and try to have your way with her, huh?"

"She wanted to...uh....experiment and I didn't, so I brought her home and left!" Charlie insisted. "Look man I'm NOT lying! Your daughter is into some hard core crap, and if you don't want to accept that, then.....I'm through with this shit."

"Really, I'm not through with YOU," Paul gritted, his voice climbing in anger. "You really don't know you're talking to do you?"

Charlie fell silent, before spitting back an obviously feigned tough reply, "No, and I don't like CARE!"

"Really, young man? What if I said I WASN't her father?" Paul said acidly. "And that certain parties involved have told me another story about what really happened..."

"So, you're what....her pimp?" Charlie snickered. "Oh and they KNOW? Did they tell you about her little tryst with the dildo? Because I'm not INTO that shit."

"As if that wasn't an honest thing for a girl to do?" Paul asked. "And as for the presumption that she is a WHORE, you can't be MORE WRONG. I'd bite my TONGUE if I were you!"

"ALL I did was take her home. Crap, I could have raped her right there in my car, for all the sense that she had. I didn't HAVE to take her home, but I did."

"Sheesh, you really ARE clueless... I'll give you one guess. And you implying she is a hooker is a hoot," Paul said sarcastically. "I have a very STRONG feeling that's not ALL you two did..."

"Well.....if you must know....in the car on the way home, she told me she'd blow me for $50," Charlie leered into the phone. "But I knew she was too drunk."

"Now I KNOW you're full of crap," Paul laughed sarcastically. "Because there is only ONE person I know of she'd do that for, and she would NEVER do it for money... UNLESS she was under the influence of something..."

"Hey, believe it or not. If you're not her dad, all I can think is you're some kind of sex partner or something."

"More then a sex partner, creep. I'm her boyfriend," Paul snapped, finally letting his anger flow freely.

"Huh. She surely wasn't acting like she had a boyfriend when she was creeping up my leg all night. You must be no fucking good" he laughs, nervousness still in his voice.

"Yeah WHATEVER, asshole!" Paul snarled. "You're really a piece of work, you know it? Apparently one of her FRIENDS called me... and told me about your little stunts... About how certain young LADIES tend to black out when in your company..."

"So, WHAT? You want me to say I screwed her?" Charlie snapped. "So you can do WHAT? Slap her around? I'm not getting into this shit!"

"If I wasn't on the other end of the phone I'd ring your goddamned NECK for saying that shit! I believe you know something called Rohipnol? And I think you probably think you're really SLICK pretending to deny what you really did..."

"WHATEVER, man," Charlie responded. "If you haveta know, I have a girlfriend too. WHY would I need to drug the likes of her when I have my girl who I happen to care about?"

"Why indeed? If you DO have a girlfriend why the FUCK are you hanging out in BARS?" Paul asked.

"And TRUST me, the way she was that night, I didn't have to drug her. All I had to do was go out in the alleyway and tell her to open wide!" Charlie sneered.

"You sorry sack of dogshit!" Paul exploded. "I'm telling you ONCE! You listen to me and listen GOOD. Because its creeps like YOU who ruin it for the rest of us!"

"ALL I did that night was take her home. God, you'd think that was some sort of fucking sin!"

"Fucking indeed!" Paul continued, his fist punching the wall of the hotel room in anger. "I want you to know if I EVER hear about you doing this shit again to any other girl, your ass is MINE! Because for you to imply Tryn is a slut is a fucking lie."

"You know, you're really starting to piss me off!"

"Feelings MUTUAL, you son of a bitch!" Paul hissed into the phone. "You think you're hot shit, don't you? That you're untouchable?"

"Tell you what, mother fucker! You want to know SOMETHING?" he said, his voice rising. "I DID fuck her. Yeah, I DID."

"WHAT?"

"And unless your name is FUCK ME, she wasn't thinking of you when she rode me, because that's all she kept screaming!" he hooted. "Chew on that!"

"Unless your name is MUD you'll think TWICE about calling THIS number again, asshole. Because you know WHAT? You're going DOWN!"

"No, it's your GIRLFRIEND who does that!" Charlie spat back.

"In your fucking DREAMS! Because she'll make DAMN sure that they'll find your ass and all the girls who ever rode your sorry BUTT under the influence will nail you GOOD!"

"You don't know shit about me," Charlie slurred, obviously growing more intoxicated by the minute.

"You don't know shit about me EITHER, asswipe!" Paul yelled into the phone.

"Or Tryn either!"

"I know that if she or that bitch of a roommate want to mess with me....."

"You'll do WHAT?" Paul asked.

"Fuck them," Charlie muttered under his breath.

"Well asshole, you think you can take me on? Cause I can go a lot longer and harder then you ever could dream... in the courtroom..." Paul began, before Charlie cut him off.

"What's your GIRLFRIEND doing crawling all over me anyway?" Charlie challenged him this time. "Because, bud, if MY girlfriend ever did that....."

"Nothing unless YOU raped her, you jerkoff!"

"I didn't rape anybody!" Charlie denied bitterly.

"Yeah tell it to the judge, mother fucker!"

"You just enjoy your stay in fantasyland, shithead," Charlie laughed.

"I will, you waste of skin. And you enjoy daylight while you still can!"

He chuckled a bit, beginning to weave, "Tell her I said goodnight!"

"And stay off the damn speeds, jerkoff," Paul said. "Cause it ain't helping you worth SHIT."

"Kim? KIM?" Paul heard him scream. "Get OVER here. Shit...yeah....come here. Go get me a fuckin' drink" he slurs.

"Is that your GIRL?" he asked slowly. "Is that how you TALK to your girlfriend, asswipe?"

"Huh? What?" Charlie says, barely coherent at this point.

"I pity your sorry ass," said Paul with disgust. "And if you knew what was good you'd give up..."

"You know who you sound like," Charlie slurred. "Gene Simmons."

Paul groaned, and shook his head.

"No, wait. That's not it. Fuck... KIM!" he yells, "Who's the fucking lead singer of KISS?"

"Close but no fucking cigar, you looser..." Paul growled.

"Yeah!" he hollered. "You sound like Paul Stanley, man!"

"Duh, you're a GENIOUS," he said sarcastically. "I'm impressed you even have HEARD of us."

"People tell you that before?" Charlie giggled.

"You're a real Einstein," Paul sighed.

"KISS rocks, man.' Tryn's got a KISS tattoo on her tit!" Charlie howled with laughter. Paul was thoroughly disgusted. Clearly, Charlie was beginning to lose memory of the earlier part of the conversation. He was becoming almost pleasant.

"Well if I knew slimeballs like you were fans of us... then I'd punch your goddamn lights out," Paul growled.

"No, really, you DO sound like him. It's uncanny." he chuckled. "No bullshit. He probably dates, like, porn queens and shit."

"So what?" Paul snarled. "You have no fucking clue what really happens with them do you? You have no idea what reality is."

"I ain't wanting to mess with you, man. It's all cool. Trynia's a good chick," Charlie denied. "Just know I didn't sleep with her."

"Uh huh and you'd better REMEMBER that, when you go round spreading shit about her being a whore. Because I won't STAND for people calling her that."

"Sure thing, Gene." he slurred, his voice muffled in what sounded like a chug of beer.

"And you'd better not call her again, if you know what is good for you. Because if you do, I can't be responsible for the consequences..." Paul sighed, rolling his eyes. How much longer could he let this go on?

"Nah, I'm done with her. She's all yours."

"Thank god for small favors," Paul muttered.

"But we're cool, right?" he fumbled over his words.

"Stick it up your ass, pervert!" Paul snapped.

"Fuck......."

"Cause after what you just said, I wouldn't wanna be in your shoes..." Paul threatened. "Cause you really don't have any idea who this REALLY is do you?"

"I figure your her fucking dad. She didn't have no boyfriend..." he slurred. "I asked her and she said HELL NO."

"YEah I'm her fucking dad, and she's dating Paul Stanley," Paul finally erupted. At this statement, Charlie burst into sloppy laughter.

"Shit, Paul's got a piece of ass in every town. Like he'd date someone from HERE! He's probably got a goddamned blonde piece of ho wherever he wants her!"

"You know something? You don't know SHIT about him!" Paul yelled. "And that's probably a DAMN good thing."

"I bought Destroyer, man, when I was just a KID!"

"Oh really?" Paul asked.

"Yeah. Gene Friggin' Simmons and those damn monster boots. Crap, he was like SATAN."

"He is," Paul said with a touch of irony and sarcasm. "He eats punks like you for breakfast. And he really DOES have a cow tongue grafted to his own."

"I had 3rd row seats once. Whoops..."

Paul groaned to himself, utterly disgusted with this conversation as he sighed, "Hey, do me a favor. If you ARE a KISS fan, get the HELL off those drugs, and clean your damn life up!"

"Before you end up never seeing daylight again. And just REMEMBER... the difference between lies and the truth, cause what goes around comes around."

"I don't do drugs..." Charlie slurred. Paul heard a crash of glass and a splash as he guessed the guy must have spilled his beer. "Oh shit..."

"Yeah, tell me WHY you're sounding like you're talking a blue streak, and about ready to pass out? Sounds to me like You've had a few too many."

"Sir, look......just tell Trynia that I said bye, K?"

"Yeah, have a nice life, while you fucking can," Paul says. "And don't worry. She'll get the message. I hope YOU do... Don't fuck with her, or me. Or any other woman you drive home."

"Hey, it's all good. You're in love. She's a nice piece of ass. It's all good..." Charlie repeated.

"You have a lot of nerve calling her, after what you pulled," Paul grumbled.

"And I'm going to see that people like you never bother her again."

"Alright, well, then...it's been cool. I gotta go." he slurred.

"Yeah, whatever, asshole," Paul muttered. "Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of... and for your info, I know you did it. And Paul Stanley WOULD date a girl from Philly. Because you're talking to him."

"Paul STANLEY?" Charlie blabbered to his girlfriend. "What Paul Stanley call ME, or is someone fucking with me?"

Paul clicked off the phone quickly, and almost hurled it into the wall next to the sizable dent he had made with his punch. Breathing deeply in and out he gathered his self-control and wrote down the number he had for the incoming call.

"Your ass is mine, creep," Paul promised. Quickly he used his own phone to make one final call; hoping Trynia wouldn't walk in on the middle of it.

"Hello, Lucille? I know it's late here, but I was wondering if you could do me a big favor?" he asked, pacing what seemed a familiar tread in the carpet. "I wonder if you can get me Lisa? In Philly, by tomorrow... there's a big case that I could use her expertise on... yes... it's for a friend... a very CLOSE friend... who's been assaulted sexually..."

"Paul, they have chocolate fudge ripple, and mint chocolate chip," Trynia called into the room, after Andre opened the door for her.

"What's that Honey?" he asked, just finishing his call.

"Ice cream, get it while it's cold.

"See you tomorrow evening? Terrific," Paul nodded. "Gotta run..."

"Paul!" she asked, carrying two dishes of ice cream, balanced on a tray, and two boxes under her other arm. "They have backgammon and chess..."

"Uhhhh, in here, sweetie," he said, shoving her phone back into her purse, and slipping his own back into his jacket pocket.

"Uh, did someone call me?" she asked.

"Oh, no, sorry, I was just putting my clothes away and accidentally knocked your purse over. Sorry" he said, looking at her with a hint of guilt on his handsome face. "But I put it back, and I think I have everything where it came from...I think."

"Good," she said. He smiled at her, lips slightly pursed, suspiciously resembling his pose in the KISS Got Milk poster.

"I took the drawers on the left side of the bureau. You can have all the rest. I'm not sure what you brought."

"Thanks," she said, putting the tray with the ice cream down on the table nearby. Turning to the rack beside the front door, she wandered over to her suitcase and opened it.

"You need help?" he offered, happy to be off the subject of her purse.

"Well if you want..." she said, picking up the case and plopping it on the bed before him playfully.

"Is it too early in the relationship for me to be rooting through your underwear?" he grinned cheekily.

"They're new, and their cleaned," she chuckled.

He pulled out a KISS T-shirt and threw it at her, happy to see her laugh. A layer of practical cotton Hanes her ways were nestled in with a few pairs of silky pink, white and purple underpants.

"OhhhhHOOO, what's this? "Monday...Tuesday.... Wednesday...." he grinned.

"The cotton ones are for Monday and Tuesday, the nylon ones are for Wednesday and Thursday, and then the others the fun ones are for the weekend..."

"So, you're either planning on staying LONGER than the weekend, or you're planning on going through a LOT of underwear" he teased.

"I wish I could stay longer, but I have to go back," she sighed. Then turning to the ice cream she picked up a dish of it and wandered over to where he leaned pensively by the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of wine. She leaned up to kiss him, and put a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. "C'mon you big baby, eat some for me... Since you sent me down for this in the FIRST place you can at least have the decency to EAT it."

"I just don't see why they can't get the least little crap right," he pouted as he put down the champagne bottle.

"Uh, is it my imagination, or was that chair over THERE..." she asked, looking past him at the armchair placed against the wall. She didn't recall it being there when she was last up.

"It was but...it was in my way," he said with a dismissive wave of one hand, looking slightly nervous. For emphasis he walked over and plunked his empty suitcase on the chair.

"Next you're be complaining about brown m and m's," she teased him, shoving another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. He nibbled it and glared at her for a moment, before breaking into a smile.

"It's just that when I come in from a show that I've worked my ASS off, I want everything in my damn hotel room to be perfect...that's all. That doesn't make me a prima donna BABY, does it?" he winked.

"Well then SIT down and help me eat this..." she said, patting the bed.

"Well, then," he smiled wider, dropping to sit next to her on the bed. "I guess you leave me no choice."

He grabbed the remote control, and flipped on the television. Anything to get his mind off what he really wanted to do to her at that moment. Hastily he flipped to ESPN in the hopes of finding a late night soccer match. Snuggling closer, she waved the ice cream laden spoon before his lips. She inserted it past her lips, eyes closed as she exaggerated her enjoyment of it. Trynia couldn't help but be suspicious that something happened beyond moving a chair and bitching over the lack of room service. Quickly she offered him another spoonful to banish her suspicions. He nibbled his ice cream, then thrust his tongue out teasingly to lick the spoon clean. She inhaled a deep breath as her desire suddenly increased. Their dark eyes met in a smoldering gaze, before Paul broke eye contact. This sobering moment shattered their titillation with food, and increased the sexual tension painfully.

"You still haven't told me what you want to do tonight," he asked softly, stroking the bedspread beneath them both. "But since it's after midnight, if you just want to go to sleep, I understand."

"It's a very good question," she caught her breath, and put the bowl of ice cream only half eaten on the bedside table with a dull clink.

He rubbed his eyes a bit in sympathy, "I must be getting old, Tryn. Some of these runs with shows every night just wear me out. Something tells me I'm too old to do the heavy duty rocker circuit..."

"Then perhaps we should turn in," she confirmed quietly, her heart sinking.

She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder affectionately.

"If you want, love" he looked at her expectantly. At that moment she leaned into him, simply smelling the scent of his cologne, rubbing his back lightly.

"And I'll even volunteer to take the couch so you can sleep free of hearing my snoring in your ear" he teased. "That is.... If that's what you want"

"You don't snore... very LOUD," she teases back, trying to lighten the mood that grew increasingly heavier.

"I've been told by reliable sources otherwise," he joked weakly.

"Can you just... hold me till I fall asleep, even though you're wanting to protect me from yourself?" she dared half teasingly, half of a challenge in her eyes. Paul was unsure of how to handle the sleeping arrangements. He knew what he OUGHT to do, and what he WANTED to do. Both seemed uncomfortable alternatives.

"Oh, well, huh, sure," he said as he rubbed her back. "Just tell me when it's time to back off."

"In that case," she said, rising from the bed and turning to look at him for a moment. "Why don't I just put on something and I'll be right back..."

"Sleepwear...sure" he acknowledged mournfully, thinking of his previous plans.

He resumed his frantic search for a program to distract his mind from sex. Cooking shows, sports, ANYTHING. Angrily he kicked off his shoes, and struggled into the most non-sexual outfit he could muster, sweat pants and a loose comfortable shirt. Grabbing his glasses he shoved them on, and tied back his still drying hair in a red bandanna he'd grabbed.

A few minutes later she emerged from the bathroom, and he chuckled sadly to himself. She knew obviously what he was trying to do, and was trying valiantly to make it easier for him. Judging from the faded Villanova sweat pants and the battered ACS 2000 T-shirt covering her body and all its curves. Too bad, it was futile, because Paul would desire her in anything she wore.

"Bed's hard" he grumbled. She lay next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"And the pillows aren't fluffy enough"

She ignores his comments, simply enjoying being near him. Reaching for the remote, he clicked a few stations. Trynia could tell he was clearly feeling a bit sorry for himself. She curled up against him, nestling her head against his chin, and rubbing his chest lightly.

"You notice how sometimes it's not even worth turning on the TV at this hour? Nothing but damn info-mercials?" he fussed again

"Try one of the music channels then," she suggested. "VH-1 Classics..."

Putting her hand over his, she pressed the button for the channel, to turn on David Lee Roth and Van Halen's hot for Teacher. Paul chuckled, and she switched immediately to cable music channel which had a light piano melody intermingled with Kenny G.

"OFF my remote, woman" he fussed, tugging the remote playfully from her. "You MEN and your damn remotes. You'd think it was a magic wand," she teases back.

"Magic wand, shit! It's a phallic symbol and you know it!" he grinned. They laughed hard at the joke, then fell serious again.

"Ohhhhh, God, look at THIS!" Paul gasped, landing on a ppv station. "They've got the new James Bond flick on pay per view."

"OOOH I WANT TO SEE!" she cried. "I LOVE bond!"

"Got eight dollars?" he teases.

"In my purse," she joked, trying to get up.

"Hey, hey, HEY!" he fussed, yanking her down lightly to lie next to him again.

He grins slowly at her as he watches her coming back into bed. He is uncomfortably aware of becoming aroused.

"Shit, Stanley!" he mutters to himself. She lay down next to him, and noticed he's tense.

"Paul?"

"OK, there's a whole boatload of directions here" he muttered, sitting up and hoping to distract himself, "I guess we push THIS red button?"

"Maybe..." she said. "This button here... and then that one... and then hey presto..."

"Watch me accidentally order the Power Rangers movie or something...like I haven't seen THAT one enough with Aaron. You know baby; Peter and I, when the band first started out, we'd love to sit in hotel rooms and watch movies, just nonstop. Before everything CHANGED, you know. Before we got rich."

She laughed, and smiled, "I wish I had known you back then..."

"I was an idiot" he grinned.

"It's nice to know we can just be together," she said soberly, struggling to fight the sadness overwhelming her. How she ached for his hands to make love to her, to feel him again, and yet she knew he was trying to play the gentleman for her sake. It was maddening.

"Yes," he nodded, dark eyes watching her. "But is it wrong to say that I miss the other?"

"Not at all," she said back. "I miss it too, Paul. And I know what you're trying to do..."

He looked at the remote again and sighed. "OK...this says something about how the movie will start in 5 minutes. So, what do we do now? Do I stay on this channel?"

"I just hate feeling like I'm somehow letting you down..." she sighed.

He apparently didn't hear her, for he suddenly got up and muttered, "well since we have fifteen minutes, I suppose I could get the ol' sofa ready for when I'm gonna crash..."

"Paul..." she started as he grabbed a pillow from the bed, and walked out into the main room. He tossed it onto the sofa, which seemed comfortable looking enough, but considering what he was accustomed to.

"I wish you didn't have to," she called out, getting up off the bed and joining him in the main room.

"Wonder if they have extra blankets?" he says, as he opened the closet.

"Why don't I sleep out here instead?" she asked. "I'm used to it by now. I'm the grad student who lives on mac and ramen noodles, remember?"

"Hey, look, if you're worried about the couch, DON'T be. I really don't mind," he said, taking the blanket from her and tossing it over the sofa. "I spent many a night on the couch back in the days of Wicked Lester... You have no idea how many nights I slept in that loft."

"But Paul..."

"Trynia, I do not intend to have you sleep on the couch, so you might as well just quit that fight right here and now." he gives her a mock scowl.

"I just thought," she sighed, her heart sinking further as a lump formed in her throat.

"Besides, I don't mind. REALLY." He said, as he turns his back to her and kind of looks quizzically at the couch. Clearly, he really DIDN'T want to sleep there. He turned back to her and smiles a bit nervously.

"I really wish you didn't sleep on that nasty old couch," she says with a pout of her own.

"Soooo, what will it be?" he asked as casually as possible. "That James Bond Movie, or some of those games you brought up with you?"

"Besides this is a big bed, and we could both fit on it..." she interrupted. "What's the big deal if you just snuggle with me till I fall asleep?"

He sighed, "It's kind of like this. If we were to go to bed, I can't promise I wouldn't be tempted, and I don't want to be, if you know what I mean."

"I know," she sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "This is some kind of gentleman thing isn't it?"

"Right, baby, Because I think you need some time," Paul said. At mention of phrase, she threw up her hands in frustration, pacing the room.

"It's like the old Harry met Sally debate," he joked, moving quickly after her as she moved toward the bedroom door. "Can a man and a woman really be friends? Can Paul Stanley share a bed with a beautiful woman and not want to get intimate?" he chuckled.

"I hated that goddamned movie," she snapped.

"So, it's the couch for this starchild," he smiled.

"Great," she sighed, turning around to face him. He walked over and kissed to top of her head. As he felt her stiffen in his arms, he realized that was precisely the wrong thing to do.

"Great, then am I supposed to be a good little girl and curl up and watch my movie with a pint of Edie's ice cream and some milk before I go to bed, sir?"

"I wish I didn't feel like I was trying so hard, but yet screwing it up so bad." he said helplessly as she pulled away. "This couch thing is supposed to make you feel BETTER, love. It's supposed to give you some space."

"Then why does it make me upset, like you're pushing me away," she asked. "All I want is a little human comfort and support..."

"If I'm making it worse, tell me' he whispered.

"This is so not fair," she cried. "Dreaming and wanting to be with you every damn night, and then this revelation happens, and you feel you have to be some damn Boy Scout..."

"Because, frankly, Tryn, I feel like I'm playing a role here, and it's odd as hell," he says, scratching his head lightly.

"What role?" she asked. "This is real life, not some damn play."

"I know...but I feel.... I don't know.... Like I don't know how to act," he sighed in frustration. "And if I do THIS, I look like a heel, and if I do THAT, I look like a heel. And if I do what my body wants to do, then I look bad all around, and I FEEL bad."

"Then stop trying to analyze it," she cried in frustration.

"It was fun having you at the show tonight" he whispered in her ear.

"What do you want from me?" she asked, moving out of his grasp.

"I just want us to have a good time. I want you to..." he sighed. "I just want, for one night, for things to be the way they were, before this damn thing implodes."

"I don't REMEMBER any of what happened!" she protested. "All I know was something happened beyond my control. And it's not like those people who REMEMBER it... in livid detail."

"But what we can control is us.... Tonight...and what we do," Paul interrupted.

"Rape is rape, but it doesn't make me want to not touch you, and be with you," she cried, whirling on him.

"Listen, sweetheart, maybe I should just turn in" he walks over to her and kisses her forehead. "There are plenty of towels in the bathroom, and well, you know where everything is."

"Fine, make me feel like some 16 year old kid who isn't legal yet," she snapped.

"I'll just sit here and eat milk and cookies."

"Tryn, that's NOT fair!" Paul suddenly snapped back. "I'm trying awfully hard to do the right thing here!"

"Why do I feel that no matter WHAT I do I'm letting you down?" she cried back.

"You're NOT letting me down, Tryn. I think I'm letting me down, if that doesn't sound stupid."

"Paul what do you mean?" she asked, through tears. "Are you thinking that if you DO what your hormones tell you... you're doing something wrong?"

"I don't know. It' just that I should be CAPABLE of sitting here with you and just kicking back, but somehow I just kept feeling sad for what I THOUGHT was going to happen. And feeling mad because some asshole ruined it for us."

"I want you so badly," she sighed. "And I KNOW it doesn't help... because I guess you're trying to be a gentleman..."

"And jumping between wanting to hold you and wanting to feel like I need to treat you like my friggin' sister."

"Well what's so bad about either one?" she asked. "Please don't shut me out...

Unless it's the only way you can deal with this..."

"I'm not. I mean, I'm really TRYING not to" he says, turning his head toward her.

"My main anger is toward this bastard and the wall he's putting between us..." he sighed, hands on his hips. "I can sit here and watch a movie with you, it's not big deal... but I'll have to watch myself every second..."

"What do you want me to say Paul, that I don't want to be near you?" she asked, anger flushing the sorrow from her momentarily. He looked at her in exasperation; all ready to say some appropriate or inappropriate rejoinder when the phone rang in the other room.